


Golden Years

by megankent



Series: SKIP TRACE [1]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankent/pseuds/megankent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Buck on a road trip to Indiana for his parents' 50th wedding anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Years

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the DNF Nov '07 Anniversaries challenge. Set in the Skip Trace AU, this story happens well after the end of Charlotte C. Hill's [ What Counts as a Win](http://archiveofourown.org/works/273217).

"Not gonna happen, Buck." Vin waved his finger in Buck's face, pulling back sharply when Buck opened his mouth and playfully tried to take a bite.

"But—"

"Not just no, but _hell_ no! Not for you, not for Chris, neither. So you can both just suck it up and go on your own. I'll hang out here, feed the horses, keep an eye on the place, so you all can take all the time you want."

Yeah, that was another thing that wasn't gonna happen. If Chris had his way, they'd drive up for the party, and come back the same day. Okay, maybe not quite the same day, because after almost seven hours up to Jasper, Indiana and probably three hours for the party, Chris probably wouldn't want to drive all the way home even to get away from his parents. The Days Inn was a decent place to stay, and there was a recently built Hampton Inn, maybe they'd try it out for variety if nothing else.

It was the elder Larabees’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, and Chris's older sister Barbara had set up a big shindig to celebrate. For the past month, Chris had tried to ignore the whole thing, then tried to get away with sending a gift, along with their regrets, "Sorry, too busy," but Buck had vetoed both plans.

"They're really not the jerks that Chris makes them out to be, you know." Buck really did care about them, and he knew they loved Chris deeply and wanted what was best for him. They just couldn't reconcile a gay son with their Catholic beliefs. But it was a testament to how much they did love their son that they welcomed Buck into their lives, however strained that welcome was. Buck knew that Chris and his dad had gone through a rough patch in Chris's youth, and that was how he'd ended up in the Navy. When he and Chris had first become friends, Buck didn't even know Chris _had_ a family. But over time they'd patched things up, and by the time Adam was born, the cracks had been plastered over, if not quite healed.

Buck never could figure out where Chris's folks had been in the terrible months that followed the bombing. Maybe they'd reached out and Chris had slapped their helping hands away. Maybe they hadn't known how. But by the time Chris dragged his head out of the bottle, and as they'd both woken to the new world between them, Chris's parents were just plain out of the picture. The road back had been slow, with tentative steps on both sides, but they visited back and forth at least once a year now. And heck, fifty years! That was something to celebrate, no matter what you believed in or who you fucked.

"Buck, they could be rainbow flag-waving saints, and you couldn't pay me to go up there." Vin was taking in his laundry from the clothesline he'd strung between the back porch and the converted swing set—Buck kept almost garroting himself when he went out to exercise on it. Buck was taking in the view. Vin's cutoffs left little to the imagination, and he'd stripped off his t-shirt and thrown it in with his last load. Buck wasn't going to object to his thoroughness.

"Why not?" He stepped up close, sliding his hands around Vin's waist and tucking one thumb into the front of his shorts. The other hand spread wide across the warm skin of Vin's belly, pressing him back against Buck's front from groin to chest. "You got a secret fear of old married folks?"

Vin relaxed back for a moment, then leaned forward for the next piece of clothing: a green henley that had seen better days. Hell, it had probably seen better days before JD was born. "I don't aim to be a chit in Chris's fight with his folks. And I sure ain't going to be your piece on the side. I'm nobody's son-in-law, and not likely to be in this life. You sure as shit know his folks wouldn't want me there if they knew who I was to the both of you, neither. So unless you can come up with an argument that’s a little more compelling, I'd just as soon stay here." _Where I am wanted,_ went unsaid.

Buck had to smile at that. He figured that both of their reasons for pressuring Vin to come were pretty damn selfish, after all. And Vin was right that Chris's folks wouldn't thank either of them for rubbing their even more unconventional lifestyle in the faces of a church full of conservative friends. For just a second, Buck thought about staying home himself. But he'd have to work hard to convince Chris to go on his own, and even if he succeeded, chances were a pissed-off younger Larabee would manage to rub enough people the wrong way to ruin the party anyway.

Buck dropped a kiss onto Vin's shoulder, sliding up toward the back of his ear, but Vin squirmed out of his hold before he could get much further. "Stop it, Buck! That's not gonna work." Vin pushed the basket into Buck's hands, and pulled the last two shirts off the line.

Buck figured if he looked up stubborn in the dictionary, Chris and Vin would be fighting for whose picture got that space. He could count on his fingers the number of times either he or Chris had managed to change Vin's mind. Didn't look like this was gonna be one for that tally. He followed, meekly, into the house and down the hall to Vin's room. There was nothing finer, in his mind, than a good-looking man doing housework, and Vin surely fit that bill. Buck lay back on the bed propped up against the pillows so he wouldn't miss a thing. Vin shot him an annoyed look, but went on folding up his clothes, sliding them neatly out of sight in the drawers. It went too fast for Buck's tastes, but then it always did.

"You gonna keep following me around all day?" Vin slapped Buck's leg as he moved past, sliding the clothes basket into the closet and shutting the door.

"Depends." Buck leered. "You got any more chores to do?"

Vin groaned. "You sure Chris doesn't need you down at the office?" Buck checked his watch and shook his head.

"Nope. He's probably on his way home already, anyway." Buck sat up, and lazily reached out, hooking a finger through one of Vin's belt loops. "You've got my undivided attention."

"Lucky me." Vin let Buck pull him back toward the bed, 'til he was standing in the vee of Buck's legs.

"You betcha." Buck leaned in then, and Vin met him, mouth open, hands reaching, running up Buck's arms and lacing into the soft hair at the base of his neck, holding him there as Vin's tongue teased at his lips and then plunged deeper. Buck dropped his hands to Vin's ass, pulling and kneading, until he felt the quick rise of Vin's cock through the soft, aged denim. Vin's mouth fell open in a gasp, and Buck took his own turn, delving into that wet heat with abandon. Vin's hands came free, and braced on Buck's shoulders, getting leverage to rock his pelvis hard into Buck's hip. The button-fly was not the most comfortable wardrobe, and Buck freed one hand to address the problem. The shorts sank a little with each button Buck released, until they were barely hanging off Vin's hips, propped up by his widespread legs as much as anything.

The hard shape of Vin's cock, straining against the confining briefs, called for more direct action, so Buck carefully eased it from its constraint, drawing another gasp from Vin. "He likes that." Buck addressed the angry red tip, "You like that, don't you?"

"Damn it, Buck," Vin ground out between his teeth. "You gonna do something with that, or am I gonna have to handle things myself?"

"He's a little bit impatient." Buck slid a teasing finger up Vin's length, watching him shiver under the barely-there touch, feeling the grip on his shoulders tighten even further. "But you know ol' Buck's gonna take care of you, right?"

Vin's hands pushed downward, and it wasn't like Buck needed a lot of encouragement. He leaned forward just a little further, letting the smooth, slick head of Vin's cock slide past his lips. Buck just never got tired of this, the taste of him, the pleasure he knew he could give. He might have settled in for a long, slow exploration, but Vin's hands tightened again, his hips rocked, and he was driving into Buck's mouth and it was all he could do to relax and take it, hanging on for the ride. Between one quick breath and the next, Vin's rhythm broke into shudders, and he was coming hard and long. Buck swallowed, and swallowed again, barely hearing Vin's whispered apologies.

The strong legs were wobbly now, and it didn't take much to turn and tip him, until they were both sprawled backward on the bed with their legs hanging over the side.

Vin was flushed and sweaty, with glazed eyes that seemed to be looking somewhere distant. Buck's own dick was still hard, but not with the kind of urgent hunger that had just overcome Vin. He had no fear he'd get taken care of, one way or the other. Instead he reached out with one hand, brushing damp hair back from Vin's cheek, stroking his thumb across Vin's lip where it looked like he'd bitten it.

"Sorry," Vin muttered again, kissing the pad of Buck's thumb as it passed.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry for," Buck countered. "Man might even take it as a compliment." Vin smiled then, but Buck could see he was already halfway to sleep, and kept up the gentle stroking 'til Vin was all the way there.

Buck lay there in the quiet of the afternoon, listening to Vin's soft breathing and the subtle background noises of the house and the land around him. The refrigerator kicked on, then off again. The sycamore tree out front scratched against the roof in the afternoon breeze. He ought to break out the ladder this weekend and finally cut it back before winter set in. Of course, he'd been thinking that for about the last month, too, and this weekend they’d be up in Indiana, so it wasn’t going to get done either. And then, in the middle of all that, the low rumble of the Camaro's engine and the crunch of gravel under the tires signaled Chris's arrival home.

Buck considered, for a moment, just staying where he was. Chris would find him soon enough. But Vin was sleeping deeply, and there wasn't any reason he shouldn't stay that way. Buck eased off the bed and out of the room as quietly as he could, pulling the door almost shut behind him. He crept into the kitchen in bare feet, and wrapped his arms around Chris before Chris even knew he was there. Chris huffed, and dropped the bag of groceries he'd been carrying. Hopefully there wasn't anything breakable in there, but really, Buck didn't care that much.

He snugged his dick, which was right back in the game, up against Chris's ass, and sank his nose into the hair that was getting just a little long at the back of Chris's neck. Chris arched, giving him access, then pulled away enough to turn in Buck's arms, returning the embrace and pressing into Buck's mouth for a deep kiss. He would taste Vin there, and Buck felt the moment that Chris figured it out, the pause, and then the deeper searching and the sudden, tighter grasp in the back of Buck's shirt. Buck sent his own hands south, cupping Chris's ass as he had Vin's not so long ago. Different, but there really just wasn't any bad in this equation, and Buck felt himself smiling.

"What?" Chris pulled away, just far enough to look in his eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"Nothing." He smiled even wider, in a way he knew was guaranteed to infuriate his lover. "What?"

Chris stepped back in, and Buck was happy enough to lean back, propped between the pantry cabinet and Chris's solid muscle. The next kiss was harder, searching, and Buck opened wide, letting Chris have his way as he had Vin earlier. They might accuse him of being the instigator, but damn if the both of them weren't each as bad as the other when they had the bit between their teeth. Chris's hands were exploring now, sliding across his chest, flicking at a nipple through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, then sliding down to dip under the waistband of his shorts, easing them down to his thighs.

Buck brought his hands around to the front, sliding the button free and easing Chris’s zipper down carefully over the hard flesh beneath. Chris gasped, breaking the seal of their mouths, and then grunted hard when Buck gathered up Chris’s dick with his own, applying a strong grip and pull to them both. Chris’s hands tightened in response, squeezing and kneading Buck’s ass in matching rhythm. A little searching brought their lips together again, and Buck’s tongue delved inside, challenging. Chris responded, leaning in closer, driving Buck’s head back against the cabinet sharply, driving their bodies together, so that Buck’s hand was trapped, held, and rocking in to the now-still grip.

The pressure, the friction and the hot, wet taste of Chris in his mouth wound everything tighter, until there was no place higher to go. All that energy burst free with a flare of heat and light, rolling out and through him, triggering Chris’s response. The powerful gush between them slowed, along with their breathing. Chris seemed to deflate, leaning in until Buck’s braced position was the only thing holding them off the floor. When his legs started to tremble, he clutched tighter to Chris with one hand and tugged the other, freeing from between them, reaching out blindly for the door handle, the back of a chair, something to grab on to.

Chris grasped their precarious position, and shifted enough to get one shoulder up under Buck’s armpit and lock his knees. Laughter rolled up out of his gut as between them they levered far enough upright that Buck could get his shaky legs back under him, and they shuffled toward the table, hampered by exhaustion and the pants that were still down around their thighs.

“Gives a whole new meaning to weak at the knees,” he finally gasped, dropping into a kitchen chair when Chris removed his support. He fiddled with his shorts, then finally kicked them off to lie on the linoleum floor.

“Idiot.” Chris pulled out his own chair, but stopped to pull up his pants before he sat down. “You should have said something.”

“When?” The day Buck couldn’t survive sex standing up he might finally let the damn orthopedic surgeon go to work on his knee. But he hadn't reached that day yet.

Chris smiled ruefully. “Yeah, you do have a point there.” It was a sign of love, or maybe just OCD, when Chris leaned down to pick up Buck’s discarded shorts, then herded him toward the bedroom for a shower.

* * *

Chris ducked out of the bedroom at his first opportunity, and found Vin in the living room, sprawled on length of the couch with his head propped up on the arm and his nose buried in the latest issue of _Guns and Ammo._ Chris picked up Vin’s bare feet to make room to sit, then settled them back across his lap, and set to massaging the arch of one foot with both his hands. Vin kept reading for a minute, probably just to spite him, then dropped the magazine onto his chest.

“That’s not gonna work, either.”

“That mean you want me to stop?” He stilled his hands a minute.

“Didn’t say that.” Chris returned to his massage. “Just didn’t want you to think all it would take to change my mind is a foot massage.”

“You saying there is something that would change your mind?” Chris couldn’t even state clearly _why_ he kept pushing Vin to come with them to Indiana. Vin had said no, unequivocally, the first time Chris had asked and the twenty-fifth. He figured short of throwing the man in cuffs and dumping him in the backseat of the Mustang, he was pretty much shit out of luck.

“Nope.” Vin grinned. “But you’re welcome to keep trying.”

Chris laughed, “Yeah, right.” But he didn’t stop his hands.

“Where’s Buck, anyway?” The house was unnaturally quiet for all three of them being home, and Buck was usually at the center of whatever was going on.

“I told him that if he was so all-fired anxious to get there, he could do the damn packing.” Vin snorted.

Chris usually packed for both of them, had for years. Left to his own devices, Buck might throw in ten shirts and no underwear for a three-day trip, then look all innocent when Chris had to go commando. Chris prided himself on analyzing their plans and packing exactly what they’d need for a trip into the smallest possible bag. But the truth was, for this weekend, as long as they each had a suit and a shaving kit, the rest of it really wouldn’t matter that much. Even if it didn’t feel like punishment to Buck, Chris took some small satisfaction from passing the work off to his partner.

“Buck says you never knew your dad.” He watched Vin’s reaction, to see if he was overstepping. Vin wasn’t one to talk about his past, even the more recent events. But Buck had filled Chris in on what Vin had revealed during the long night they’d spent on the mountain in Wyoming, and as time went by, Vin opened up more and more.

“Nope.” Vin was matter of fact, but didn’t seem pissed at the line Chris was taking. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t have people looking out for me, though, least once I got out of foster care.”

“I couldn’t wait to get away from my dad,” Chris mused. “Seemed like from the time I turned thirteen, we couldn’t do anything but fight.” Vin made an encouraging noise, so Chris went on. “One day it got so bad, I just threw everything I had in trash bags, tossed it in the back of my truck and left.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen. It was a couple of weeks before graduation, a month before my birthday. I had already signed a letter of intent with the Navy recruiter, and as far as he was concerned, that was the final straw.” The last fight hadn’t even been their most explosive, but Chris had been clear that there was no going back. He’d left his mother crying, his little brother cowering in his room, and just walked out.

“Where’d you go?”

Chris laughed. “I was such a rebel. I went to my sister’s apartment.” Barb was four years older, and had been sharing an apartment with a couple of girlfriends. She hadn’t been happy to see him, but she’d let him crash on the couch for a week. “Then a few friends’ houses, slept in the back of my truck a couple of nights when I couldn’t find a couch. But I would have slept in a ditch before I would have gone home after that.” Then, when the time had come he’d driven up to North Chicago for recruit training, and started to grow up. “When I turned eighteen, I joined up.”

Vin shifted, not-so-subtly directing Chris to his other foot. “How long before you went back?”

Chris did the math in his head. “About three years the first time, another couple years the second time. Then, after we got out, I’d take Buck home for visits, then Sarah. And Adam.” Sarah had been about as eager to meet Chris’s folks back then as Vin was now, but they’d fallen in love with her on sight, even if she wasn’t Catholic. They’d been so damned excited about Adam, too. Sometimes he thought they only put up with him because he was the one that brought them Sarah and Adam for two weeks each summer. Things had certainly never been the same since.

He wasn’t sure how much of that he was ready to share, but he didn’t have to decide because Buck came out of the bedroom then, with two bags in one hand and the garment bag draped over his shoulder He disappeared up the front hall, staging things for their departure in the morning.

“You pack me any underwear this time?” Chris called after him.

Buck grinned as he came back into the living room. “Don’t you trust me?”

Vin snorted, which pretty much expressed Chris’s opinion, too.

Buck leaned over the back of the couch, sliding one hand up the back of Chris’s neck, and the other doing something that had Vin flinch and draw his feet out of Chris’s lap so quickly he feared for his balls.

“Ow! Shit! Buck!” Buck’s hand dropped away from his neck, and Chris tried to work out what had sent Vin into such a fit. It took a second, then several more to resolve the situation. The cuff button on Buck’s shirt was snagged in Vin’s hair, and Vin’s attempt to pull away was only making things worse.

“Hang on, hang on.” Buck held Vin’s head still until he stopped struggling, and then slowly worked his wrist free. “Okay, there you go.” Vin ran a hand back through his hair, just to check, then turned an accusing glare on Buck. “Don’t look at me,” Buck protested. “You’re the one with all the hair.” He reached out as if to tousle said hair, and Vin ducked away to avoid him.

“Just leave it, Buck,” Chris put in. “Do you really want to antagonize him when you could be putting him in the mood for good-bye sex?” The night before anyone left, most often Vin, was always an occasion for good-bye sex. Not that Buck couldn’t make an occasion out of most anything, but there was something about the three of them, together, on the eve of separation, that made things just a little sweeter.

“All right, then,” Buck gestured toward the bedroom. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Haven’t asked you at all, yet,” Vin muttered, but Chris could see he was fighting a grin, and quick enough to lead the way. Chris came last, flipping out the lights along the hall, shooting a glance at the alarm panel to confirm it was set, and then letting these men he loved chase away thought and worry like they’d never been.

* * *

Buck stowed both their bags in the trunk of the Mustang, laid the suit bag across the top of both, and slammed the lid shut. If he waited for Chris to do it, they'd never get on the road, and he wasn't foolish enough that he couldn't figure out that Chris had planned it that way. He probably hadn't actually planned for Josiah to call from the office, then Orrin, then JD, but he hadn't shown any sign of ending the calls, or at the very least referring incoming calls to his cell. Vin had finished up the breakfast dishes ten minutes ago, and now sat sprawled in one of the old Adirondack chairs with an amused grin on his face.

"You could help, you know," he pointed out.

"Oh, no," Vin countered. "I told you I have nothing to do with this."

Buck glared briefly, checked that they had everything they needed, and stepped inside to corral his wayward partner. Chris was back at the desk, in the home office that usually gathered dust between uses, sorting through a pile of mail that had to be at least three weeks old. Buck leaned in the doorway and just watched for a minute. He never could quite figure out what being around his parents, or even just the idea of being around his parents, did to Chris. Buck wasn't sure quite why he was so invested in Chris maintaining a relationship with his folks, except that he loved his mom so damn much he couldn't imagine someone being willing to give up on his family.

"Hey," he finally said. "Let's go."

Chris turned, still holding a sales circular for some big box store. He looked at Buck, then back at the paper in his hand like he couldn't figure out how it had gotten there. "Yeah, okay." It took another few seconds, with Chris just sitting there, staring down at his hands as they slowly crumpled the ad into a smaller and smaller ball. "Yeah, okay," he said again, dropping the paper into the trash and pushing upright with a small sigh. "But I'm driving the first leg." He held out his hand for the keys.

"Not on your life!" Buck knew better than to let Chris behind the wheel on the way to Indiana. Suddenly they'd be exploring secondary roads, stopping at farm markets, checking the oil at every other service station, and if the world's biggest ball of twine had been within a hundred-mile radius they'd have stopped there, too. Chris grumbled, but he followed Buck down the hall and out on the front porch where Vin was blowing tunelessly on a harmonica. Buck pushed it away gently, and bestowed a not-so-gentle good-bye kiss.

"Sure I can't talk you into coming along?" Chris tried one more time.

Vin just grinned. "Larabee, from what you've told me, and how eager you are to visit your own damn parents, I figure you'd have to offer me on the order of that half-mil you made off me before I'd set foot in the same county with them, much less inside some church hall."

"Yeah," Chris grimaced. "I guess I see your point." He leaned down to steal one last kiss from Vin before Buck literally pulled him down the stairs and toward the car. Chris climbed inside, slamming the door much harder than Buck's baby needed or deserved. Buck petted the roof in apology, and slid in behind the wheel. He watched in the rear-view as Vin waved at them leaving, and then lost sight of him as they turned onto the main road. It was ten miles on local and state roads before they hit I-75 north, and Chris spent the whole time silent, staring out the window.

Once he'd merged into the sparse northbound traffic and slotted the car into fifth, Buck dropped a hand onto Chris's leg, just resting it there. After a minute or two, Chris dropped a hand on top, lacing their fingers together, but still not saying anything. They drove on in silence which, if not precisely comfortable, held none of the tension that had been sparking off Chris for the last few days. Buck had given up asking what the trouble was; Chris would just have to up and tell him when he was ready. But their last half-dozen trips up north hadn't been this fraught, and Buck couldn't for the life of him figure out what was eating at Chris.

Buck had talked to Barb this morning, and promised her on an (imaginary) stack of bibles that he'd get Chris there, on time, and in a suit. Buck liked Barb and her husband, Tony, and even got along with Chris's little brother Steve for the most part. But he didn't have a clue about their extended family—aunts, uncles, cousins—or know if they had a clue about him and Chris. And he figured that was probably what Chris had been unwilling to talk about since this whole shindig had come up. It would fit, though he wasn't quite sure how Chris's thwarted plan to bring Vin along would have made things even remotely easier to explain.

Chris sighed heavily and twisted in the bucket seat, so he was facing toward Buck. "I'm sorry." He scrubbed his right hand over his face and back through his hair, which just fell right back down in his face anyway. "Sorry," he said again.

"Don't be sorry," Buck countered. "Just tell me what's going on in that twisted brain of yours."

Chris huffed out a big breath, finally spat out what had probably been chewing him from the inside out for the last week or more. "LasttimeIsawthesepeoplewasthewedding."

At first, the only word Buck could pick out was "wedding," but working back from that he finally got it, and sighed. He should have known there was more to this than just Chris's folks, with whom they'd hammered out a reasonable truce. But yeah, the last time he or Chris had seen any relatives outside the immediate family would have been that sunny day in June, when Buck had stood at Chris's side, offered up rings along with his promise to support Chris and Sarah's commitment to each other. 'Til death had parted them. With that realization came the certainty that he knew which church hall Barb had been describing: high windows inset with stained glass and the dark oak paneling. It had been strewn with flowers and ribbons then, and undoubtedly would be again. Buck couldn't think of anyone else he knew who'd been married anything like fifty years, couldn't quite imagine what that would be like. But then again he and Chris had been partners coming up on twenty years, lovers for more than seven of them, and Vin had been with them now for three. Ezra might not like the odds, but Buck could see the three of them hitting their own golden anniversary one day.

But none of that made it any easier to face up to a passel of folks you barely knew, who were almost guaranteed to despise your choices in life, even if they managed to avoid hating you for making them. If Chris brought home a woman this long after the death of his family, they'd all be glad to see him moving on, rebuilding his life. Chris seemed pretty sure it wasn't going to go that way when they Chris told them he and Buck were an item. Seemed like Barbara could have given him a little heads-up, but talking about feelings never did come naturally to the Larabee clan. Chris was still all wound up, even now that he'd coughed up the hairball that had been choking him all week.

Or maybe that wasn't everything. Buck felt a sick feeling in his gut. "You want to pretend—"

"No!" The suddenness of Chris's denial told Buck Chris had been thinking along the same lines. That maybe, just for the weekend, he should fall back into the role of best buddy. "No. No way, and I told Barb that, too." Just that quickly the sick feeling faded into a warm glow. Buck squeezed his fingers in Chris's in silent acknowledgment.

"What did Barb say?" She hadn't mentioned a word of the whole mess to him when they'd spoken, but she probably figured Chris had filled him in. Damn Larabee communication breakdown. "Chris?" Buck prompted.

"She said it would be all right. That she wanted us there more than half the others anyway. But I figure that's just 'cause Tony has two left feet." Chris smiled then, the first real smile Buck had seen in days.

"Well, I'd take you out on the dance floor if only you'd let me."

"Yeah, right." Chris knew how much Buck loved dancing: the subtle cues between partners, the public displays of culturally acceptable passion. Chris never complained when Buck took a pretty lady out for a spin on the dance floor, but he'd sure been surprised the first time Vin dragged them to a family-run bar that catered to a mixed crowd and featured country music on the weekends. Surprise hadn't stopped Chris from looking his fill as Buck and Vin danced, even if Buck figured Chris's smile was equal parts appreciation and relief at being off the hook for good. Chris's dancing pretty much amounted to one or the other of them catching him now and then, just seizing the moment—and Chris—in the living room, or the kitchen, when just the right song was playing. In those moments Chris could let someone else take the lead, literally and figuratively.

"It'll be all right, pard." He wasn't sure how, but damnit it would be. Besides, "One way or the other, we'll be headed home Sunday." On the way home Buck would even let Chris take the wheel. "What are they gonna do? Shoot us?"

* * *

"I don't know," Chris countered. "Are you packing?"

He knew that Buck emphatically was not, mostly because he didn't trust Chris not to shoot himself in the foot just to have a reasonable excuse not to go to the party. "It's gonna be fine, Chris. Hell, it's gonna be fun. Fifty years, whooee."

Chris couldn't quite fathom the depth of Buck's compassion. How could a man just keep on giving and seem never to run out of love or good humor? Here they were, headed into the heartland of religious intolerance to celebrate the wedding of two people who would barely admit who Buck was to their son, and not only was Buck the one driving them there, he found something funny in the situation to ease Chris's tension.

He'd been really childish about this whole mess, and some days he didn't know why Buck or Vin put up with him. But they did, and Chris was damn grateful for it.

Buck's rolling laughter drained the tension from Chris's body like nothing else, and he took what felt like his first deep breath in a week. Buck squeezed his thigh again, and returned his right hand to the steering wheel. Chris flipped on the radio, and started the never-ending search for a decent station. Being on the road with Buck was comfortable, right, and the miles flew past almost without notice. They stopped on the other side of Nashville for late lunch, knowing that they had more than half the trip behind them. The Goodlettsville Cafe was simple food, but good, and over the last few years they'd been stopping there every trip. Of course, every year there was a new young waitress for Buck to flirt with, and that didn't hurt the restaurant's appeal, either.

They pushed on after lunch, pulling in to Jasper just as the sun was beginning to set. Buck had made a reservation at the Hampton Inn, which was newer, and correspondingly posher than their old reliable Days Inn. Once they were checked in, and Chris saw the size of the whirlpool tub in the bathroom, he figured they'd be staying here from now on, if Buck had his say.

"Woo-whee!" Buck fell backward onto the king-sized bed, arms and legs flung wide. "I think I'm gonna like it here." Chris, who was busy hanging the suit bag and stowing their clothes into the dresser drawers just grunted his assent.

"You should call Barb," Buck offered, not even lifting his head from the bed. "She wanted to know when we got in."

"You mean she wanted to know _that_ we got in, right?" Chris knew his sister pretty well, even if they didn't talk that often these days. She'd always known how to get to him, and he had no doubt she'd been making liberal use of Buck's cell phone number lately.

"Aww, Chris, she just wants things to go smooth."

"Yeah, I really think that's gonna happen." But he caved, pulled out his phone which had been miraculously silent all day long, and punched in her number from memory. He felt truly blessed when it rang straight to voicemail. "Hey, sis. It's me. Buck and I just got in. We'll probably shower, then head over to the Schnitzelbank for dinner. Call me." He looked back over to the bed to see Buck's reaction to those plans, but he was dozing already, with one hand thrown across his face to block out the fading light. Chris left pretty much the same message on Vin's cell, then pulled the drapes to, and eased down on the bed next to his lover. Buck wasn't so far gone that he didn't react to Chris's presence; he rolled to one side, and stretched out one long arm to pull Chris up against him. Chris went willingly, relaxing back against the warm, solid weight of him, and surrendered to sleep.

* * *

The soft chirp of Chris's phone dragged Buck awake, but not quick enough that he could silence it before it woke his partner. Chris fumbled on the bedside table, and managed to flip the phone open before it clicked over to voicemail. "Larabee," he growled.

"Oh, hey, yeah." Chris sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Sorry, we fell asleep. What time is it, anyway?" Buck remembered that they'd been fiddling with the time zones in Indiana, and they'd been a confusing patchwork from county to county to begin with. "Okay, yeah, he's right here."

Chris handed off the phone, mouthing "Barb" at him, and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Hey, darlin'. Pay no attention to the grouch. How's all that planning going?" He looked at his watch; they'd been out for a couple of hours at least. It would be full dark by now. Barb ran down the list of completed items like the Larabee she was, and then reminded him of the scheduled events for tomorrow. "Got it, we'll see you then." She hung up without saying good-bye, but Buck knew better than to take it personally. He grabbed the pad and pen from the nightstand and jotted down the high points: breakfast at 8:30, family photos at 11, and then the party from five o'clock onward. With any luck they'd be back in their room at a decent hour tomorrow night, get some use out of the Jacuzzi, and back home in time for Sunday dinner with Vin.

Chris came out of the bathroom then, one towel tucked around his waist and the other around his neck to catch drips from his wet hair. "Shower's pretty good," he offered, digging around in the drawers for a clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. "Go on if you're gonna. I'm starving."

Buck lay there another minute, just to needle Chris, then went on to take his shower. He wouldn't miss dinner at the Schnitzelbank for anything. It was rumored to be the best German food in the state of Indiana. Buck couldn't speak to that, but it was certainly the best he'd ever had, and since it was the only restaurant worth mentioning in Jasper, they made sure to eat there whenever they were in town. Buck sluiced off quick and got out, toweling off as he walked back into the main room. Chris had the TV on, but it was scrolling MSNBC on mute while he stared out the window at what passed for a skyline in Jasper. Buck came up behind him, settling his chin on Chris's shoulder and taking in his own view of the town.

"Worrying never made a damn thing better," he pointed out.

Chris nodded, and then turned, offering Buck a kiss in passing, which he gladly accepted. He dressed quickly, and shrugged into his suede coat before Chris could do the jangling car keys thing, even though they were barely walking next door.

"Keep your pants on, hotshot. I'm coming."

He slid an arm around Chris guiding him out into the hallway, and deliberately kept it there. It wasn't their way, normally, to flaunt things, but it made Buck happy to usher Chris into the elevator. Chris stiffened slightly before they stepped out into the lobby and Buck took the cue. Chris didn't move any further away, though, and their shoulders brushed as they walked out into the cool night air. It really was just down the block to the restaurant. They got a quiet booth in the back and ordered a feast of kassler ripchen, because Chris never could pass up a well-prepared pork chop, and sauerbraten. They ordered the beer sampler, and Buck offered his glass to Chris's for a toast. "To family."

Chris grimaced a little, but then tapped his glass against Buck's and drank.

* * *

The insistent beep of the alarm clock dragged Chris awake. He squinted at the clock, and had to look again to make sure he'd read it right. It was almost eight, and they were supposed to be at Barb's for breakfast in a half hour. Buck sprawled out over most of the bed, still snoring heavily, and Chris didn't bother to take any care with his elbows as he levered himself upright. He rubbed angrily at his temples, already knowing that it wasn't going to be enough to relieve the consequences of last night's indulgence. Stumbling into the bathroom, he dug out a couple of ibuprofen, and cupped water from the sink to wash them down. He relieved himself, and splashed some cold water in his face, but refused to look in the mirror just yet. It couldn't be good news.

Because he loved him, Chris carried two caplets back to the bed for Buck, along with a plastic glass of water. "Wake up, sleepyhead," he whispered into one exposed ear. Buck's head tossed on the pillow for a minute, and Chris watched long arms reach out instinctively for the empty space he'd filled just a moment ago. When Buck's hands came up empty, he finally blinked his eyes open, squinting against the morning light in the room.

"Urg—" Chris loved Buck's assortment of inarticulate morning sounds. Some were for stretching, some asked or answered a query about early morning sex, and others just seemed to be generic protests of the whole idea of waking up.

"C'mon, pard. We've got a date for breakfast, remember?" If there was one thing Buck tried never to do, it was disappoint a lady.

Buck nodded, and pushed up until he was leaning against the headboard. Chris sat down, and placed the ibuprofen into Buck's open palm, watching until he'd tossed it back and then offering the glass of water.

"You're a lifesaver." Buck's smile, even through beard stubble and pain-squinted eyes, was brighter than the sun.

"We better get a move on, or both of us are gonna need saving."

Buck picked up his watch from the nightstand, did a double-take, and then practically leapt out of bed. "Well, hell, Chris. Why didn't you wake me up? We're gonna be—" The last of Buck's protest was drowned out by the sudden rush of the shower. Buck was out less than a minute later, and Chris heard the high-pitched whine of his electric razor start up. The bathroom was big enough that he could slide past easily, stepping into the shower and cranking on the tap. He wasn't quite as quick as Buck, but he wasn't fool enough to linger, either, with the chance of pissing Barbara off. He shaved as quickly as was safe, and skinned into last night's jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt. Buck had the suit bag in one hand and hip-length suede coat that Chris had bought him last Christmas slung over his shoulder. Chris grabbed his own jacket, checked his pockets for his phone and Buck’s keys, gave his partner a quick peck and led the way out the door.

Truth was, in Jasper nothing was too far from anything else. Even the Larabee farm, straight through town and three miles out the other side, was less than fifteen minutes away. So they pulled up outside Barb and Tony's house with a couple of minutes to spare. Chris noticed they'd painted since the last time he'd visited, and the two-story house looked great for a place that was coming up on a hundred years old. He stepped up on the porch with Buck at his shoulder, but didn't get a chance to knock, because Barb's youngest, Allison, opened the door and took a flying leap into Buck's arms, squealing as he caught her and swung her up over his head.

"C'mon in," Barb called from somewhere deep inside. "And bring that banshee with you. She needs to finish setting the table."

Buck twisted, shifting Allison to piggy-back position, and followed Chris inside. The house was quintessential Americana, with homemade hand-crafts and family photos on the walls, and kids' toys and books stacked in every corner. The aroma of baking wafted out of the kitchen, adding to the effect. "Giddyup, Buck!" Allison encouraged, and he loped down the hall after Chris. Chris greeted his sister with a polite hug and a peck on the cheek, then waved rather than offer his hand to Tony who was up to his elbows in dirty dishes.

Buck eased Allison down to stand on one of the kitchen chairs, then gathered Barb into a proper hug, even dipping her back a bit before dropping a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. "See Chris, that's how you greet a lady." As soon as he set her upright, Barb slapped his hands away and turned back to breakfast.

"Buck, why don't you help Allison set the table? Chris, why don't see if you can roust your namesake out of bed."

Buck slapped Tony on the back in passing, and let Allison point him to the plates, silverware and napkins. She'd be turning six next year, and Barb had been talking about how they planned to put her in a mainstream kindergarten, hoping that an extra year of maturity would balance the fact that she was a little bit of a slow learner. She was smaller than a lot of kids her age, which they put down to the fact that she'd been a preemie, but they figured it would help her fit in when she started school. But what she might have lacked on standardized tests she more than made up for in energy and love. From the first time Buck had held her in one hand, he'd felt an amazing connection, the kind that made him wonder what it might have been like to father kids of his own, and made him that much clearer what Chris had lost.

"No, Buck! That's wrong." He looked down at the table, which he'd been setting like they did at home with all the silverware on top of the folded napkin. Allison showed him the right way, with the fork on the left, and the knife and spoon to the right.

"Sorry, darlin'. Guess I needed someone to teach me." He purposely turned the spoon upside down. "Is this right?"

"Bu-uck." She sighed heavily and fixed it for him.

Chris came back down the stairs, followed by his nephew who, in spite of the dark hair he'd inherited from his dad, looked every inch a tired, grouchy Larabee. "Morning, Chip," Buck offered, and got a silent nod in return.

"Good morning," Allison sing-songed.

Barb came in then with big platter that Buck stepped forward to grab from her, and set down in the middle of the table. Tony followed with a pot of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice, and with only a little jockeying for chairs, they sat down to breakfast. The coffee cake tasted even better than it smelled, and that, along with a couple of good cups of coffee retired his headache for the morning. When they were done, he offered to clean up the kitchen while Tony shepherded the kids upstairs to bathe and change. Barb led Chris out into the back yard, and they sat on the big swing. Buck kept an eye on the situation, not sure which one of them he'd end up rescuing from the other. While he watched, Chris launched himself up off the swing, sending it backwards and off-kilter. He paced, just a few steps in each direction, and then looked up at the house. Buck was pretty sure the angle of the sun meant Chris was only looking at his own reflection, but he stared back, offering what silent support he could, just in case.

They both came in a few minutes later, and while there was silence between them, it wasn't oppressive. Chris picked up a dishtowel, and did his best to buff the pattern off Barb's plates. It was probably the least damage he could do in this house, so Buck just let him. When there were no more dishes he could even remotely justify drying, Chris dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, and let out a heavy sigh.

Buck turned a chair around, straddling it, and reached out to take Chris's hand. "What?" he finally prompted, when it didn't seem like Chris was going to spit it out.

"She—" Chris faded off, looked up at the ceiling, around the room, basically anywhere but at Buck.

"Hey," Buck slid his free hand up to Chris's jaw, turning his face until their gazes met. "Just tell me what's got you even more wound up than you were before."

Chris nodded, looking hard into Buck's eyes for a minute, then back down into his lap. "She told everyone." Buck thought on that for a second, and was just working his way around to the answer when Chris finally managed to say it. "About us. Every damn one of them."

For the life of him, Buck couldn't figure out what the problem was. They hadn't ever hidden their relationship from their friends or their family. Heck, this whole trip might have been easier if they had. He'd steeled himself for a weekend of being introduced as Chris's partner, with just enough twist to the word that people's eyes would widen in surprise and then, as they walked away, there would be the quiet whispering.

"So?" he finally had to ask. "Maybe she was trying to do us a favor." He could see how it would seem that way to Barb, a kindness just to take that question out of the conversation and out of the shadows.

"Yeah. No." Chris shook his head. "I know she was. I get it. But—" Chris squeezed the hands they still held clasped across the formica tabletop. "Guess I hate to be out-maneuvered, more than anything." Buck chuckled; that was the damn truth. "It's not like _I_ was looking forward to trying to explain the situation to great-aunt Greta."

Personally, Buck thought that great-aunt Greta had a lot more on the ball than her younger relatives gave her credit for. They'd celebrated her ninety-fifth birthday last summer, and she was still as sharp as a tack. She didn't miss much. "It's gotta be better than some big scene in the middle of your folks' party, though." Chris nodded again, and unlinked their fingers so he could rub both hands up and down the back of his neck. "Here, let me." Buck moved behind Chris, and settled his hands on the rigid muscles of Chris's shoulders. He kneaded, soft and then harder, slowly coaxing out the knots, soothing away the tension one stroke at a time. It took a good five minutes before Chris was able to let go and lean back, his head starting to loosen and roll under Buck's hands. "That's it," Buck encouraged. "Let it go."

Chris sighed, turning his head to drop a kiss on Buck's hand, but Buck didn't stop the massage until he heard the family clattering down the front stairs. He kept his hands still on Chris's shoulders, hoping that a little of his own what-the-hell nature could be transferred through touch. Maybe it was, because Chris didn't flinch when Allison bounced in, crowing about the brand new dress mommy had bought her. Barb followed, shooting Buck an apologetic look, and then spearing her brother with something a little sterner.

"Are you ready for this?"

"Yeah," Chris muttered. "About as ready as I'll ever be."

"Well, I hope you brought a suit. I don't want to have to stop at Sears on the way to the photo studio."

Buck grinned. "We've got them in the car. Figured we didn't want to expose them to breakfast and kids. We'll change when we get there, if that works."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll call dad, and let him know we're on the way."

Chris followed Tony and Barb's mini-van back downtown to the photo studio. They pulled into the lot right behind his parents' Cutlass Supreme. He noticed, for the first time, that his dad was a lot slower climbing out from behind the wheel. He'd be turning seventy-five in a couple of months, and Chris wondered what the years were taking out of him. He offered his dad a handshake, and his mom a peck on the cheek, and Buck followed along, but with a lot more enthusiasm. Allison had to show off her dress and her matching shoes, which the grandparents appropriately oohed and ahhed over. Barb was starting to look amazingly like their mother had twenty-five years ago, and damn if Chris didn't love her more for it.

Tony was still arguing with his son about getting out of the car, and Chris wondered whether the kid was headed for the same kind of teenage troubles that had driven him out of the family and into the not so gentle care of the US Navy. There was a certain look in Chip's eyes that he thought he recognized, from the mirror. He didn't get a chance to think on it much more, because right then his brother's old truck, barely held together with baling wire and duct tape, rattled into the parking lot and stalled to a stop.

Steve was ten years younger than Chris, and they'd never really managed to bridge that gap. He'd been young and wanted connection with his big brother just as Chris had burst into adolescence with raging hormones and enough anger to fuel World War III. The battles between Chris and his dad had sent little Stevie scuttling for the safety his books. He'd always been the good student, the good boy that Chris had never managed to be, even back when he'd wanted to. Now that they were both grown up, they might have managed to put the past behind them. Stevie had tried, in the days after…. He'd come down early, stayed after the funeral, tried to drag Chris into a church when the only thing Chris wanted from God was a miracle or a way to wrap both his hands around the omnipotent bastard's neck. Poor Stevie really hadn't known him, or what to do with him. And when Chris had woken up the next morning to find the house empty and quiet, he'd torn up the pocket New Testament with his brother's numbers inscribed inside, and stuffed the pages down the garbage disposal.

When he'd finally gotten sober, Chris had called to make amends, not just for his recent bad behavior, but for who he'd never been for his kid brother. It seemed like it had helped them both, but the first time he'd brought Buck home to Indiana as more than a friend, what little ground they'd gained was wiped away. Buck had never been anything but decent to Steve. But long before they'd become lovers, Buck had been the brother Chris chose over the one he'd been born with. And somehow, when that relationship became even closer, Chris had crossed some line that Steve couldn't forgive. Steve was icily polite at family gatherings, but he stayed away when Buck was around, and left most of the family communication to Barb. Well, Chris had to admit, they both did that. But she was damn good at it, and so far she'd succeeded in keeping them from killing each other, so Chris wasn't going to mess up a good thing.

Today Steve, with his pretty fiancé Amy on his arm, was following the script. Dressed in a dark suit and a conservative tie, probably what he wore to church on Sundays, he offered his hand to both Chris and Buck for perfunctory shakes. Barb did her job of herding them all inside, and Chris peered over her shoulder at the checklist of the series of shots she wanted taken.

Chris caught Buck's eye and tilted his head toward the dressing room, but Buck looked Stevie's way and shook his head, so Chris went back alone, then they traded out. The photographer was a middle-aged woman with short salt-and-pepper hair. She hefted an enormous camera like it was a kid's toy, and directed them like they were rebellious schoolchildren. Which wasn't that far from the truth, anyway.

Something in her smile as she posed him and Buck to his parents' right, with Barb, Tony, Steve and Amy on their other side, made him wonder for just a moment if she hadn't been on Barb's chain-letter list of people to out her brother to. Of course, he also had a strong suspicion that she was batting for their team anyway, so he tried not to let it bother him that much. The photos dragged out for more than an hour, with different combinations of people and poses, and stopping to examine the results on the computer every few minutes. By the time they were done Chris felt like his shoulders had climbed up into his ears again, and the headache he'd banished at breakfast was back and pounding steadily. Buck's large hand, resting in the middle of his back, kept him from lashing out when Steve made some comment about the blessed sacrament of marriage needing to be defended, but it wasn't enough to make the whole damn fiasco remotely enjoyable.

The minute Barb admitted her list was complete, Chris was halfway to the door, not even checking to see that Buck was following. He was, of course, with the clothes they'd changed out of draped over his shoulder, and a concerned look that Chris really _did not_ want to deal with on his face. He had the car open and the engine started before Buck even got his hand on the door. Buck was protective of his "baby" but the Mustang was a muscle car at heart, and it let out a decent roar as Chris floored it, tearing out into what passed for traffic in Jasper.

Buck barely got his seat belt buckled before Chris was making the turn onto the state highway that headed northwest out of town. It wasn't much more than a two-lane road, and Chris was throwing the car into curves like he was training for Indy, and not for the first time he wished his baby had shoulder harnesses on her seat belts.

"Chris—"

"Don't start, Buck."

Chris whipped into the oncoming lane to pass and old truck hauling a trailer full of horses, then ducked back right before they ran head-on into and oncoming sedan. After that, further out from town there was less traffic, and Buck was less certain of their imminent death and more and more certain of Chris's, because when Chris stopped this car Buck was gonna kill him. They'd gone another fifteen miles or so, they were coming up on the next town, when Chris finally seemed to let go. He took his foot off the gas and shifted into neutral, and just let the Mustang roll to a stop at the side of the road. Buck held out his hand in a silent demand. When Chris didn't respond, Buck leaned across and wrenched the keys out of the ignition, cutting the engine off sharply.

The silence stretched, and Buck gave Chris a full two minutes, measured by the dashboard clock, to start his explanation. Chris stayed silent.

"What the fuck was that?" Buck finally asked.

"Don't start," Chris said again.

"Don't start? I think I can safely say I'm not the one who started this one." Buck heard his voice rising, knew it wasn't the best way to deal with Chris when he was pissed off, but damn it, he'd disrespected Barb and his parents, and he'd scared Buck.

Chris flung the door open, too hard and without even a look behind to see if there was another idiot speeding down the road ready to take off the door or take Chris out. He was lucky, again, and he slid out, slamming the door behind him. Buck got out too, coming around the front of the car to where Chris had both hands braced, leaning against the quarter-panel, breathing hard like he'd run the last few miles instead of driving it. Buck saw the tension building, saw the moment when Chris's fist started to lash out, and he countered, blocking the punch aside, bending Chris over the hood of the car and leaning in with enough weight that Chris wasn't going anywhere until Buck said so.

"You want a little thrill Chris? You want to ride the bleeding edge?"

Chris grunted protest and struggled against his hold, but Buck wasn't in a mood to give in.

"There are games I'm willing to play with you, up to and including nailing your ass so hard you won't be able to sit in this car. But I am _not_ interested in that kind of stupidity." He twisted Chris's arm a little higher. "Do you hear me?"

Chris tried Buck's grip one more time, just testing, then gave it up. "Yeah," he muttered. "I hear you." Buck waited a second, just making sure it wasn't a ruse, then slowly released his hold. Chris stayed where he was, sprawled across the hood of the car, for another minute, then pushed himself upright. Whatever wildness had bitten him, it seemed gone for the moment, and Buck read regret and not a little embarrassment in his lover's eyes.

"You done?" Chris nodded. "You ready to apologize to Barb and your folks?"

Chris had to think on that one for a minute. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Get in." Buck nodded at the passenger side of the car. "You can call them on the way back."

Chris didn't fight him on it, just climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door gently.

Buck took a moment of his own, just looking up the empty road, banishing the visions of what might have been before sliding in behind the wheel and turning his baby back toward town. He listened to Chris's half of the conversation as he apologized to his mom, and he couldn't help but hear both sides of the second call. Barb read him the riot act, and Chris let her, then apologized again, promised they'd absolutely be on time for the party and on their best behavior, then closed the phone. He sat quiet for a minute or two, then dropped his hand on Buck's thigh, just brushing gently along the crease of his suit pants.

"I'm sorry."

Buck had to bite back the urge to pound Chris a little more for his blatant, suicidal stupidity. "I know you are." It was the truth, from both of them, but it wasn't enough to make it go away. Maybe it would have been different if they'd managed to convince Vin to come along. Of course, different could have been worse, too. But there was something about Vin's quiet that seemed to soothe Chris when he got all wound up. Buck could laugh at Chris, or want to slap him, but he was rarely unaffected. Of course, there was always door number three. If he did take Chris back to the hotel and drill him through the mattress, there was a good chance that Chris's resulting mood shift would last throughout the evening. Buck smiled grimly to himself. Sounded like a plan.

* * *

After he'd apologized, he really didn't have anything useful to say. Trouble was, neither did Buck. He counted on Buck to fill their quiet with entertaining stories and raunchy anecdotes, and now he was even missing the endless fiddling with the radio. It took half-again as long to drive back into town at the speed limit, and Chris had a chance to appreciate how lucky he was not to have gotten a speeding ticket or wrapped them around a tree. Buck pulled in to the hotel parking lot and went inside, letting Chris follow or not. Of course he did.

He caught Buck up in the lobby, waiting for the elevator, and hooked his arm through Buck's while they watched the numbers flash downward. Buck didn't pull him closer, but he didn't move away, either, and Chris figured that was enough for now. They rode up in silence with a teenage girl carrying a little dog in a purse; she never even looked their way, just talked to the little dog in baby talk until they got out on the sixth floor. Buck unlocked the door and held it open for Chris, then hung out the Do Not Disturb sign and put on the chain.

"Take off your clothes." It wasn't quite an order, but Chris was quick to comply anyway. The shirt was a mess from where Buck had slammed him up against the car, and he only hoped he had a spare that would match, or they would be making that trip to Sears before the party tonight. He laid the pants and his jacket carefully over the desk chair, and kicked everything else onto the floor of the closet. When he looked up, Buck was still dressed, still standing right by the door. Something about standing in the middle of the room naked, revealed in more ways than one, made him want to defend or deflect. But even before he could open his mouth Buck held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't, Chris. Just don't." At least Buck moved then, stripping off his own suit carefully, turning back the covers on the bed. It didn't look like it was shaping up to be the sort of angry, cathartic sex that Chris had pretty much expected, and almost been looking forward to. Buck climbed into bed, propping pillows just so, and then patted the mattress beside him. "Come here."

Chris didn't wait, just climbed in, molding himself along Buck's right side, resting his head on Buck's shoulder, feeling the steady throb of Buck's pulse under his cheek. Buck's arms came up around him, stroking gently down his back, brushing through his hair. Petting him. If that was what Buck wanted, Chris was pleased to let him. He'd been an ass, and he knew it. But sometimes just being around his family dramatically reminded him why he'd left home in the first place.

The shift was so subtle that it took him a minute to catch on that the touching had turned sexual, but still absent of the anger that Chris knew he deserved. Instead Buck was achingly gentle, stroking over Chris's skin like he wanted to touch every inch of it, cherish it. Chris tried to reciprocate, but one grunt and head-shake from his partner was enough to have him lie back, and just accept. Buck followed his hands with his tongue, and it was all Chris could do to keep from moving. His hands ached to touch in return, but he clenched them in the sheet to keep them anchored.

Buck's tongue lingered in the crease of Chris's hip, tracing back and forth, teasing at the edge of his pubes, yet never quite reaching the sensitive skin of his sac. He gritted his teeth, but didn't succeed in stifling a groan. Buck chuckled, and that sensation just drove Chris even more crazy. Finally Buck moved on, tasting the back of Chris's left knee and sucking for a while at the bone on the outside of his ankle. The pulsing intensity in his cock was apparently the last thing Buck was interested in, even if it was the only thing Chris could think about. Well, not the only thing, because the fire in his nerves from where Buck was sucking on his toes was running to the top of his head and the tips of his fingers. He was panting now, fighting to keep still, keep quiet, to let Buck have his way, when all he wanted to do was grab and rub and fuck and come.

Buck swapped to his other foot and re-started the whole process, this time in reverse. Chris's panting breaths were shading over almost into sobs. He groaned again when Buck delved into his navel, again pointedly avoiding Chris's hungry cock. He couldn't stop himself from arching up when Buck traced the line of hair up the center of his chest, but Buck's hands on his shoulders pushed him back down. Something like a whine vibrated in the back of Chris's throat, and he knew he didn't have another minute of self-control. If Buck didn't—

"Shh." Buck whispered in his ear. "I gotcha." Buck knelt up on the bed, carefully straddling Chris and then easing down onto him so slowly that he barely seemed to be moving at all. "Hang on. Hang on." The careful caress of skin on skin, the slow application of Buck's weight, the sudden bright flash of sensation as Buck's rock-hard cock crossed his own drew another low whine from somewhere Chris couldn't identify.

"Buck? Please?" His first words since the car, but from his hoarseness it felt more like weeks since he'd spoken.

"Wait. Just wait a minute." He couldn't. He couldn't. But for Buck he'd try.

Buck's hands came up to frame his face, and Chris met the burning blue of Buck's eyes. They held sadness, anger, and so god damn much compassion that Chris wanted to turn away from it. But he couldn't. He owed Buck all that and so much more. So he met Buck's eyes, let him see the anger, and the fear, and the hurt kid who couldn't get over the scars of his childhood, no matter how much he denied they even existed. And Buck poured love and healing over him without speaking a word. Then Buck's mouth was closing over his, that warm, agile tongue mapping the inside of him like it had just mapped the rest of him, and Buck started a gentle rocking motion that set off sparks in Chris's belly so intense he almost couldn't breathe.

He couldn't hold back any more, unwound his fingers from the sheets to sink one deep in Buck's hair and wrap the other under the curve of one buttock, dragging him closer, gaining leverage for his own desperate arching need. It didn't take any more than that for the tension in him to break, the sensation to burst out, and he was shuddering under the fierce power of it. Buck was holding him, whispering in Chris's ear again though he couldn't understand a word of it, and then when the sudden intensity of it started to fade, Buck's hands slid down under his hips, bending him up and back, pressing into his ass with fingers coated with Chris's own come. In the wake of his own orgasm he couldn't have tensed if he tried, and Buck's fingers quickly gave way to the broad head of his cock. Chris sighed at the familiar stretch and heat of it, and wrapped his legs around Buck's waist, planted his heels on Buck's ass, and pulled him in to the root.

Buck grunted, but apparently he was past waiting, too. He pulled out and drove in again, pressing Chris hard into the mattress, stretching his legs 'til Chris figured he'd be walking bowlegged for the next week. And still, Buck was quiet, panting lightly, fucking with silent intensity. He came quietly, too. Just sighed as his rhythm gave way to orgasm, rode Chris until it passed, and then went practically limp, pinning Chris to the mattress awkwardly. The position started to ache after a minute, and he had to push and twist to get them both stretched out and comfortable. At least he figured that Buck was, he still wasn't saying anything.

"Hey." He tugged gently on Buck's hair until Buck lifted his head, meeting Chris's eyes with a glazed look. "You okay?"

Buck nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. "Yeah. You?"

"Haven't been this good in a long time." It was the truth. He'd been so twisted up about this whole thing that he'd let it color his relationship with Buck, and he'd even tried to drag Vin into the middle of it. Good thing Vin wasn't fool enough to cave in when Chris got demanding. "Sorry," he offered again, not meaning just today.

A frown creased Buck's forehead and if it hadn't been too much effort Chris figured he would have gotten a slap upside the head. "It was a damn fool move, Chris."

It had been, and really, what could he say. "I know."

"Did you think about what I'd say to Vin if I had to go home and explain how you killed yourself being a damn idiot?" Chris hadn't. Hadn't given any thought at all to what might happen, to inflicting the kind of grief that had scarred him on those he loved most. "Or if you'd managed to take us both out, and left him alone again? You want that for him?"

"Hell, no!" Of course he didn't, wouldn't wish that on anyone. And yet, when his anger got the better of him, Chris's brain took the back seat. "It won't happen again," he promised.

"It damn well better not," Buck agreed. He rested his head on Chris's chest, and Chris could feel the lethargy dragging them both down fast.

"Better set the alarm. If Barb has to hunt us down, she'll come armed." He managed to crank his head over to the side, confirming they still had a couple of hours before they were due at the reception hall. But his phone was on the other night stand, and far out of reach. Buck flailed like a paraplegic, but finally managed to paw one of the phones off onto the covers. He handed it to Chris and closed his eyes, determinedly pursuing sleep. Chris manipulated the menu system one handed, because the other was trapped under his partner, but finally got the alarm set and placed the phone safely out of the way.

He did a little of his own petting, now. Stroking through Buck's sweaty hair, brushing away the lines from the corner of his mouth. He was so damn lucky, and so damn stupid to forget it, ever. Buck snuffled into his chest like a kid with a teddy bear, and Chris let the deep thoughts go, drifting, waiting for sleep to come.

Twenty minutes later, still lying there, he finally gave up on sleep. Sliding carefully out from under Buck, he grabbed his shorts and his phone and crossed to the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

Chris sat down on the lid of the john and thumbed the speed dial for the house. He didn't have anything worth saying, but sometimes Vin's voice could drown out the one in the back of his own head that tried to drive him crazy. Or crazier. The phone rang on and on, and Chris was about to hang up and try the cell, but then Vin was there, sounding a little out of breath.

"Hel-lo." Vin's drawl, and the sound of his breath down the phone line, struck Chris with a sudden homesickness. What the hell were he and Buck doing up here at a "family" thing without the rest of theirs? "Hello?" Vin's voice sharpened, and Chris knew he was seconds from hanging up.

"Hey," he answered. "It's me."

"Hey, Chris." The sudden warmth in Vin's voice made him smile. Heck, most things about Vin made him smile. "How's it going? How's your folks?"

Chris sighed. "Don't ask, and they're fine." He guessed if he was going to be an ass in front of everyone, he couldn't have picked a much better time. They were so damn focused on the shindig that they probably wouldn't have time to ride him about being a jerk. By the time it was over, there would have to be some new drama for them to gossip about.

"And Buck's okay?" Vin was in the kitchen; Chris heard the muffled thump of a cupboard closing, and then the rush of the tap as Vin filled a glass of water.

"He's fine. He's taking a nap right now." Vin snorted. There was usually only one thing that sent Buck to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, and Vin knew that as well as he did. Chris smiled, picturing Buck, sprawled across the bed, face mashed into the pillow instead of Chris's chest, and something in him started to ease up. He needed this, needed the both of them. "What'cha up to?"

Vin took the cue, and began an uncharacteristically rambling review of household chores, the movie he'd watched on TCM, and the run he'd taken this morning. Chris leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, and felt a little more tension drain out of him. He didn't realize that he wasn't really hearing the words, just the smooth flow of tone, until it stopped, and he realized Vin had asked him a question.

"What?"

"You sure you’re okay?" Vin's voice shaded into concern, with a background of protectiveness that made Chris smile. Vin wouldn't come to Indiana to make Chris happy, but he'd make the drive in a flash to kick someone's ass on his behalf.

"Nope. But we'll be home tomorrow, and then I will be." He sighed, and ran a hand back through his hair, massaging at the tension in his neck. "I miss you."

Vin's voice got a little quiet at that. "Me, too," he answered. "Drive safely, okay?" That only put Chris in mind of his little escapade earlier, and he felt a hot rush of shame.

"Yeah," he promised. "We will."

"Tell Buck I said hey."

"I will." Chris pictured Vin, probably leaning up against the counter in their kitchen, and couldn't wait to be back there. "See you soon."

"Bye."

Vin hung up first, then Chris's phone beeped and fell silent. He sat there a few minutes more, then turned on the shower.

* * *

Insistent, annoying beeping that Chris should have turned off by now finally pissed Buck off enough that he dragged his eyes open to find out why he hadn't. He was alone in the bed, with covers he was pretty sure hadn't been there when he fell asleep tucked up to his waist. He groped for the phone, feeling like his arms weighed tons, and managed to mash enough buttons to shut it up. The room was empty, and it took a minute for him to track the sound of running water to the bathroom, the shower. That sounded like a plan, and Buck was steeling himself to move when the shower cut off. Without the motivation of slipping in behind Chris, he just lay there, enjoying the heavy relaxation of every muscle, and the peaceful joy that he got from making love to someone. He hadn't moved when Chris came out, finally, looking wet, clean and utterly delicious.

"Hey." Chris gave him a sweet smile that curled into Buck's heart, and kindled the fire in his gut and his groin. "You're awake."

"Missed you," Buck said, because it was true.

Chris came over, leaning down and offering his mouth for a kiss. Buck took it, and used the towel around Chris's neck to hold him there a minute longer when Chris would have pulled away. He tasted of toothpaste, and he was clean-shaven again, and it took Buck a moment to savor it before he processed why. "Damn!" he pulled away. "What time is it?" If they were late...

"Relax. We've got an hour."

"Oh, okay." He pulled Chris down for another kiss, then levered himself upright with a groan. "What are you doing up?"

Chris bent over the dresser drawer, presenting Buck with a damn pretty picture. "Couldn't sleep. I talked to Vin."

Even with his back turned, Buck could hear the smile in Chris's voice. "Anything up?"

"He said we're crappy housekeepers. Guess he decided to pressure wash and seal the deck." Chris dropped his towel and stepped into a pair of briefs that left nothing to Buck's imagination. "That all right with you?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Buck gave himself a minute to picture Vin in a pair of skimpy cutoffs, soaking wet and bent over the deck. Maybe they'd have to convince him to take on a few more home improvement projects, just as long as Buck was there to watch.

Chris turned then, figured out what Buck was fixated on, and tossed the damp towel in his face. "Go on, get showered. We could shock everyone by showing up early for a change."

Buck dropped the towel on the floor, took a minute to give his partner a head-to-toe assessing look, watching the resulting flush with pride, and then purposely flaunted his ass on his way to the bathroom. He rinsed off quickly, ducking his head under the too-short showerhead, shaved and brushed his teeth in the steamy bathroom, and then stepped back into the room.

Chris was dressed already. He didn't look quite as sharp as he had this morning; the second-string shirt wasn't as good a match, and hadn't been professionally cleaned and ironed. But he still looked damn fine to Buck, and he figured it would be all he could do to keep things G-rated in front of the family this afternoon. "Looking good, stud." Chris grinned and squeezed a little closer to Buck than was absolutely necessary to get back into the bathroom. The hairdryer blared to life as Buck shook some of the creases out of his slacks.

After he was dressed, he took his own turn with the hair dryer, then preened a little, just to get Chris laughing. They got out of the hotel room finally, with plenty of time to drive across town to St. Joe's Catholic Church. The place looked pretty much the same as it had a dozen years ago, at least to Buck's eye. He pulled into the parking lot at the back, and took a space way down at the end where he'd been less likely to end up with door dings. If it was distant from the other members of Chris's family even now climbing out of their cars and fussing with their children's clothes, that was just a side benefit.

"You got the present?" he asked. It would be a pain to go back to the hotel now, but— Chris patted his pocket and nodded. "Guess we better go then."

"Yeah," Chris shook his head just a little, and smiled. "Yeah, let's go."

The first group of relatives they bumped into, literally in the case of a little boy of about four, included a woman that looked enough like Chris that there was no doubt they were related. She had three kids in tow, stair-stepping up from the boy to a girl who looked about twelve. She smiled broadly when she saw Chris. "Hey, cousin!"

Chris accepted a hug from her, only a little stiff, and then pulled back a little. "Hey, Shannon. How are you doing?"

"I'm great. Kids, this is Uncle Chris. He's Uncle Barb's brother. And this is—" She stumbled a little, and Chris stepped in like a trooper, straightforward without being confrontational.

"This is my partner Buck."

Shannon nodded, and didn't miss a beat. "Welcome Buck. These rascals are Becky, Karen and Alex Jr." Each kid solemnly offered a handshake, which Chris and Buck accepted. "We should get going inside, before Barb sends out a search party." The church hall was decorated to perfection, which Buck supposed shouldn't have been a surprise. The Larabee attention to detail found expression even in the small things, a fact he was grateful for, except when it drove him batshit crazy. There was a gift table at the back, and Chris dropped their envelope among the gold-ribboned boxes and gift bags. It was a gift certificate for a cruise, and Buck was pleased they could afford to be that generous now. Which of course brought his thoughts right back around to Vin.

He'd been smart to stay home, even if he would have looked damn fine in a well-made suit. They hadn't ever seen him in anything fancier than a sport-coat and jeans; truth was Buck wasn't even sure Vin had ever owned a suit. Maybe it was time to change that. But dressed to impress or not, he would have drawn a hell of a lot more attention in the middle of Chris's white-bread family than he would have been comfortable with, even if no one had a clue why he was there. It was a little weird, as they met each new set of relatives, some Buck vaguely remembered from Chris's wedding, others he'd heard mentioned over family dinners or phone calls, and a few who it seemed like even Chris couldn't place. But for most of them the introduction was practically scripted: Chris would introduce Buck as his partner, followed by a pause that wasn't quite long enough to be called awkward, then a hearty handshake. Buck smiled wider each time, because, hey, they were coming out to every damn person in Chris's family, and getting it out of the way all in one day.

A few stumbled on their words, though, tangling welcomes with long-overdue sympathy about Sarah and Adam. Chris held it together, and Buck used a hand in the small of Chris's back to steer him on to the next conversational group. By the time they reached great-aunt Greta, who was holding court in her wheelchair, parked right up next to the head table, he was more than ready for her sincere smile. Chris leaned down to give her a hug, and then she gestured for Buck to do the same. Her thin arms were as light as bird's wings, but their comfort had the strength of her character behind it. Her eyes were as bright and sharp as ever, searching Buck's face when he would have pulled away. "You look good," she finally confirmed. "Both of you. I'm glad you're here."

"So are we," Buck lied, because he knew Chris wouldn't. The snort from behind him wasn't much different from Greta's, and he figured he hadn't fooled anyone.

She took his face between her liver-spotted hands and looked him right in the eyes. "Thanks for taking such good care of my golden boy. I'll bet he doesn't make it easy." Buck almost felt himself tearing up.

"We take care of each other," he countered. It was the truth, and she nodded. When he stood back up, Chris slid an arm around his waist and squeezed. Usually he didn't let Chris pull that stuff in front of the family, because it only raised their blood pressure. But it felt different now, here with Aunt Greta, and with their relationship acknowledged if not celebrated. He dropped a quick kiss in Chris's hair, then stepped away to a discreet, respectful distance.

"Where's Barb?" Chris looked around the room.

"I think she's in the kitchen, telling the caterers how to do their job." Greta said it with a straight face, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. Buck figured the control-freak gene was probably dominant in the Larabee family tree.

"Which way?" Chris scanned the doorways.

"In the back." She pointed, and Chris started off. Buck grinned helplessly at Greta, and followed. They pushed through a pair of swinging doors into the back hallway, and through the parallel doors on the other side into the kitchen. It looked like a military operation to him, with trays of little appetizers being placed with precision on huge platters, which were then hoisted onto the shoulders of girls who looked barely older than Chris's little cousin Becky and certainly not big enough to carry them. But they did, and he had to step quickly to make room for them.

Chris was halfway across the room to where Barb stood, head bent over a stack of papers with the woman who must be the head caterer. They apparently came to agreement, though, because before Buck caught up with them, Barb was turning away, and she greeted Chris with a big smile and a bigger hug. Buck stepped up for his own enthusiastic greeting. He got a kiss, too. "Thanks," she whispered in his ear.

"What are you doing in here, instead of basking in the glory of this whole event," he teased when she finally let go of him.

"Nothing, now that you're here," she teased. "Let's go."

Buck offered her his arm and she accepted. Chris held the door for the both of them, and followed along with a satisfied grin.

The room had filled up in just the few minutes they'd been gone, and someone had started music that was not enhanced by the scratchy speakers of the old church hall. Chris gratefully accepted a glass of wine from one of the circulating waitresses, and took a good-sized gulp without even stopping to sniff it. It wasn't bad, actually, and he took a moment to savor his next, not quite so large sip. A little bit of applause started at the back, and then spread across the room. It took him a bit of craning, though, to spot his parents making their entrance through the main doors. They made their way through the crowd, accepting handshakes and hugs, up to the raised head table at the front of the room.

Between relatives he hadn't seen in years, and family friends he could barely remember, Chris felt like an unprepared contestant on a really sick game show. He cursed Buck bitterly, if silently, when he slipped away to play with the kids, leaving Chris to suffer alone. Partway through a conversation with the Robsons, who'd lived next door when Chris was in grade school and whom he hadn't seen since, the trace of attention he'd kept on his partner flared to the foreground. He paused mid-sentence, and focused across the crowded hall. He could see Buck's face, over one shoulder of the blond man who stood facing him. From this distance, Chris couldn't read what was bothering his partner, but something clearly was.

"Excuse me," he broke into the monologue about grandkids and colleges. He didn't wait for them to answer, just slipped between the tables, sidestepping a couple of conversational groups where he knew that people would try to draw him in. Halfway across the room he got both men in profile, and damned if it wasn't his pain-in-the-ass kid brother. It took him another dozen steps to get close enough to hear what they were saying. And then he almost wished he hadn't.

"I'm just saying, Wilmington, that maybe you ought to think twice before you start playing with other people's children."

Buck's smile was clearly forced, but he kept his tone civil. "You know I don't carry a gun these days, Steve. You got nothing to worry about. I figure if I keep 'em entertained, then their folks get a chance to chat, and everybody has a good time." Chris always marveled when Buck got amused instead of pissed off when someone tried to rile him; it was a skill Chris never could seem to master. And he sure wasn't starting today.

"If the parents knew what you—"

Chris dropped one hand on his brother's shoulder, interrupting that thought before it could go somewhere ugly. Uglier. "Steve." He didn't even try to hide his distaste.

"Chris." Steve pivoted around to face Chris. He shrugged out of Chris's hold and stepped in, trying to crowd him. Chris felt a smile tug at his lips. He wasn't sure when Steve had grown taller, but it was pretty damn amusing that he thought height alone was going to be enough to intimidate Chris. He just tilted his head up and held his ground, weight evenly balanced on the balls of his feet. He held his brother's gaze, saw the moment Steve realized that he wasn't going to win this one that easily, and watched anxiety replace macho bluster. Chris grinned a little wider, savoring the idea of putting the little punk down with his fists, party or no. But Buck's hand on his shoulder broke the tension and, always the more generous of them, he offered Steve a way out.

"Hey, Steve. I think Amy's looking for you."

No matter how much of a jerk he could be to Buck and Chris, Steve was obviously deeply in love with his fiancé. He jerked his head around, spotting her a couple of tables over. Under Buck's calming influence, Chris let him go.

"What an asshole," Chris muttered.

"Yeah," Buck agreed. "But was that any call to go all crazy eyeball on him?"

He tried to pin Buck with the same look, but he never could manage it when he was trying. Buck just laughed, and ruffled Chris's hair.

"Hi, Uncle Chris!" Allison came bouncing out of somewhere. "Can Buck come play with us now?" It had been the same with Adam, he remembered, and for once the memory was sweet instead of painful. Buck had always been down on the floor playing with trains or blocks, or giving horsey rides.

Chris smiled. "Go on. You know you want to." Buck didn't deny it, just swung Allison high up over his head until she shrieked with exhilaration.

Half an hour later, Chris was standing by the back door, admiring as Buck twirled Barb gracefully across the floor, giving her as much joy as he had her daughter earlier. Some guy Chris thought he ought to know but couldn't place was spinning his mom, too, but without the grace or style that Buck brought to the dance floor. He didn't realize how caught up he was, until a hand on his shoulder had him jump. It was his dad, looking both pleased and serious, and he jerked a head towards the back door, inviting Chris outside. He wasn't sure what was up, but he grabbed a couple of wine glasses from the nearest tray, and followed along.

There was a bench out back, but they went right by, instead taking a seat on the brick steps that led down toward the sanctuary. The evening was chilly, but not too bad for the season, and the nearly full moon was strong enough to cast shadows. The stairs weren't that wide, and other than the pictures this morning, Chris figured this was probably the closest he'd been to his dad in about twenty years. Their elbows brushed as he offered his dad the glass, and when his dad fished inside his coat for a pack of cigarettes.

"Thought you quit," he said, even as he accepted one.

"Though you did, too," his dad countered. The rasp-click of the lighter was loud, and the flame brought the old man's face into eerie focus. His eyes, once fierce and cutting, were softer, the hard lines of his face softened by loose skin and wrinkles.

"Yeah, well..."

Chris waited, he knew there had to be something coming, and he honestly didn't have a clue what it was. But his dad didn't do things without a reason, and he wouldn't be risking Barb's wrath by abandoning the party unless— Chris felt a sudden stab of fear. Both of them were old, maybe there was something wrong—

"Dad?" he finally prompted, wanting to get whatever it was out in the open.

"I'm glad you came, son." Chris figured he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times his dad had called him that since he'd left home. "Fifty years is nothing to sneeze at." He almost jumped out of his skin when his dad's arm came down around his shoulders, but he managed to steel himself and keep still. He did take a bigger drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before letting it trail out his nose, steeling himself for whatever was coming next.

"We wanted this for you and Sarah. Wanted to watch your boy grow up, get married, give us some great-grandkids, carry on the family name."

Crap. He stiffened under that unfamiliar arm, and took a moment to wonder just how plastered his dad was. But he'd walked too steadily out here, and his eyes were sharp and clear when Chris leaned forward to check. And if his own eyes were glaring, well, it wasn't really his fault. His dad should know better than to—

"But Buck's a good man." Chris almost choked. "I'd have to be a fool not to see he's good for you."

"Yeah," Chris's voice came out more like a croak than human speech, and he grabbed for his wine glass, tipping the rest down without even tasting it.

"I know it don't always come across right, but—" Now his dad's voice was sounding a little funny. "But your mother and I want you to be happy." Chris watched his dad tip back the dregs of his own wine, and was starting to see just how alike they were. "We just thought that, well—"

 _That I needed to get married again, replace my wife, have 2.2 new kids, and live the recycled American Dream._ Chris bit his tongue, and just barely managed to keep the bitterness inside. Buck would be damn proud of him, if only he'd been here. Of course, if Buck had been here, this conversation wouldn't be going quite like this. Chris wasn't sure there'd ever been a conversation quite like this, at least not between him and his father.

"I understand," he finally ground out. He did, really. From their Midwestern, church twice a week, fish on Friday point of view it all made sense.

"No. Hear me out." A deep breath lit the end of the cigarette bright red, casting a weird glow over the familiar/unfamiliar features. "What I want to say is—" Chris watched as he ground the cigarette out between two bricks and then flicked the butt under a bush. "Fifty years. It wasn't easy, and I know I could have done better by her, and by you kids. But that's really something."

"Yeah," Chris had to agree. He knew things had been rough sometimes, knew for sure that money had been tight and tensions had run high. Funny that he'd never even considered that his parents might break up. Maybe he was a little more Midwestern and Catholic than he liked to admit. But he knew it was more than tradition that had held his folks together. They loved each other deeply, and were committed in a way that he recognized, that he'd only felt a couple of times himself. Now three.

"We want that for you." Chris felt his back tighten up. He'd closed the door on this conversation almost seven years ago, damn it. But then his dad shocked the hell out of him. "If Buck can make you half as happy as Donna's made me, you'd be an idiot not to hang onto him." Chris felt himself literally gaping, and snapped his mouth shut. "Don't let any old fools tell you what to do. Not that you ever did, anyway."

Damn. Sometimes people you thought you knew could go and shock the hell out of you. He knew he ought to say something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. So instead he just sat there, staring out into the dark. The arm he'd almost forgotten tightened for a second, then drew away. He heard joints creak as the old man stood up, but still Chris didn't look at him. "Next time you come up to visit, your mother and I'd like to have you boys stay with us. If you want."

Chris had a sudden vision of him and Buck, squeezed together in the old double bed that had been Chris's in high school, trying to keep quiet like he had with Missy Sanders in the tenth grade. Buck would probably get off on it. Chris smiled.

When he looked up his dad was gone, along with his cigarettes. Damn him. Both wine glasses were empty, and he gathered them up before heading back inside.

He paused in the doorway, not quiet ready to make nice with his relatives in the aftermath of that conversation. His Dad was already out on the dance floor, twirling Mom through a crowd of couples that included Buck and little Allison. Buck had picked her up in one arm with her legs dangling free, and had the other arm extended so he could lead her through the waltz, or foxtrot, or whatever it was they were doing. Chris hadn't been there a minute, though, before Buck's eyes picked him out, and his brow creased in concern. Chris shook his head, he was okay, damn it, just a little shocked, that was all. Buck didn't look satisfied, but at least he finished the dance with Allison before returning her to the family table.

Before Chris could think up a good excuse, Buck was there, with a hand on his arm, ushering him out into the hallway, and around the corner. They were out of sight of the kitchen, their little hallway practically dead-ended at a closed office door. The hallway was dim and the tinny speakers were on the other side of the wall were barely audible. But Buck looked both ways anyway before taking Chris's hand and asking, "What's wrong?"

Somehow Buck could embody both heartfelt concern and the absolute clarity that he'd beat the crap out of whoever was responsible for Chris's upset. That sort of loyalty had always been the cornerstone of their friendship, a need Chris hadn't even known he'd had before Buck came along and filled it. He was a lucky man—and he needed to tell Buck about his call with Vin, how sure he'd been that Vin was ready to come up here and kick the same asses Buck seemed ready to.

"Nothing's wrong." Chris opened his mouth to try and recap that conversation, and then his thoughts began to swirl. He couldn't, at least not here, not now. Buck looked ready to protest, and Chris put a finger across his lips. "I promise. It's nothing bad." He leaned in closer, and replaced his fingers with his lips. Buck stiffened, but Chris wasn't going to be dissuaded. He wrapped both hands around Buck's waist, and slowly shifted his weight in time with the barely-there notes of _Unchained Melody._

It took Buck a second to catch on, or maybe he was just frozen in shock. But he caught up quick enough, wrapping his own arms around Chris's back, and then subtly taking the lead. Chris was happy enough to let him, tucking his face into Buck's neck and relaxing in his hold. The song ended, and they stilled, but didn't break apart. "Damn, I love you," Chris muttered. Buck's resulting laugh vibrated through Chris's chest, warming him from the inside out. He was just considering whether they could slip out a side exit, when his phone vibrated between them. Buck jumped back like he'd been goosed, looking accusing. Chris just fished the phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Barb.

He flipped open the phone. "Hey, sis. What's up?"

"Where they heck are you two? It's time to cut the cake. If you think you're going ditch us that easily—"

Buck, who'd leaned in close to catch Barb's side of the conversation, nodded his head in encouragement, which Chris really didn't need right now.

"No way, Barb. Do you really think we'd leave you holding the bag?" He shot Buck a quelling glare while he was at it.

"Yes," she accused. "Where _are_ you?"

"We're right outside. I promise. We'll be there in just a minute."

Buck, newly bold, started nibbling along the line of Chris's shirt collar, nosing into the hair behind his ear, close enough that he was surprised Barb couldn't hear him breathing.

"Don't keep me waiting," she ordered, and then the line was dead. Chris started to pull away, but Buck's arms drew him closer, his mouth finding Chris's, tilting his head back just enough for Buck to get the angle he loved. Chris gasped, and that was the only opening Buck needed to slide his tongue inside, plunging deep, stroking Chris from the inside out, and Chris's body was quick to rise to the challenge. But he put the brakes on, pulled away slightly, and said, "Barb's waiting."

In another time and place, Buck might have pushed it. Heck, they'd gotten each other off in record time when the need was desperate enough – and Buck and Vin could manage it even faster when absolutely necessary. But with a woman he loved and respected waiting for him in the other room, and a whirlpool tub waiting for them back in the hotel, Buck pulled himself back from the edge. Chris ran a hand back through his hair, then adjusted Buck's tie a fraction of an inch. "Let's go." Buck just nodded.

* * *

Buck didn't know what the hell had gotten into Chris, but he sure wasn't planning to complain about it. He'd seen Chris and Arthur disappear out the back door, and figured that it was probably another round of same-old, same-old. But then Arthur had come back with a small smile for Buck, and a new lilt to his step as he spun his wife onto the dance floor. Just about the time Buck had decided to go looking for Chris, he'd shown up in the doorway looking shell-shocked. Buck almost dropped Allison right then to head over and find out what the hell had happened, but Chris had warned him off, and besides, Buck hated to disappoint a lady, no matter what her age.

Of all the things he'd expected when he cornered Chris in the hall, it sure wasn't a kiss and an invitation to dance. Buck loved to dance, it was nearly as much fun as sex, but you got to do it in public. Up until tonight, though, the only place he'd ever danced with Chris was in the privacy of their own home, and he'd had to initiate it every time. But something had happened in that twenty minutes he'd been out of the room, and Buck was looking forward to weaseling it out of him later, and then telling Vin all about it. Right now he just followed Chris's lead, sliding in through the side door of the hall, seeing Barb and Chris exchange a speaking glance, and then letting himself be pulled up toward the head table.

The cake they'd set up was massive, almost too big to fit on the table. It was frosted white, with gold lettering and flowers, but Buck had it on good authority that inside it was actually carrot cake, and he was looking forward to his share. Barb tapped a spoon on her glass until the hall fell silent. Arthur stood, holding up a glass of champagne in one hand. "I'd like to thank you all for being here, and to thank Barb for all the hard work that I know went into this. But more than anyone, I want to thank my wife, Donna. She kept her promise of good times and bad, sickness and health. She loved me when I know I didn't deserve it. Times when I couldn't love myself. And she gave me a family that I couldn't be prouder of." Buck thought maybe that was a part of what had happened outside. Because damn if the old man didn't smile equally at each of his grown children, and wink at Buck before he turned back to his wife. Donna looked like she might start crying any second. She looked more beautiful that Buck had ever seen her.

A camera flashed, capturing the moment for posterity. He'd make sure to get a copy from Barb. If he was ever going to sell Vin on the Larabee clan, this was probably the most beautiful and the least crazy he'd seen them. Arthur leaned in to press a kiss on Donna's lips, and the hall broke out in raucous applause. Under cover of all the hubbub, Chris's hand slid into his, lacing their fingers together, and Buck answered back with a gentle squeeze.

Thanks to Barb and her near-military planning, the end of the party went off as smoothly as the rest. Buck gathered up bags and boxes of gifts, and followed Arthur and Donna out to their car, while Chris and Barb stayed behind to pay the caterers, who'd already managed most of the cleanup, discreetly enough that the guests didn't even notice. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Chris's dad pulled him into an awkward, unprecedented hug, so the whole thing was pretty stiff. He leaned down to kiss Donna on the cheek before closing her car door, and waved as they drove off.

He was still standing there, just starting to get really chilled, when Chris came up, wrapping an arm around his waist and towing him toward the car that he'd parked way down at the end of the lot. The church didn't go in much for floodlights and it was pretty damn dark out there, so Buck didn't fight when Chris turned a casual arm into a full-body hug when they reached the cover of the Mustang. Buck leaned back against the driver's door, the chill metal and glass a stark contrast to the heat of Chris pressed all along his front. Chris's open mouth at his throat was hotter still, and it didn't take much to rekindle the arousal that he'd felt when they'd been in much the same position in the back hallway.

"Damn, Chris." He wanted this, wanted Chris wanting him this way, but— Chris made an inquiring noise, but didn't lift his head. "Not here, damn it."

Chris did look up then, his eyes glazed and hungry, and a little bit wild. "Buck—" He rocked his hips, driving an impressive erection into Buck's groin, drawing Buck's own harsh gasp.

"Not here," Buck argued again, for once trying to be the voice of reason.

"But—" Damn, Chris wasn't going to make this easy, and Buck wasn't sure how much fortitude he had left after the whole dancing thing.

"Bed," he tried. "Whirlpool." Chris made a pouting sound, but he did pull back a little. Buck got both hands on his shoulders, and shifted him back a bit more. "Go on. Get in. We'll just move this party somewhere a little more comfortable." He got in behind the wheel, then reached across to lift the lock for Chris. _That's my baby,_ he complimented silently as the car roared to life. The trip was too short for the heater to have much effect, but they did manage to get a protected parking spot pretty close to the front door and hurried inside. Chris kept his hands to himself on the elevator ride up, and didn't say a word. But his eyes were shining like fire, promising Buck what would happen once they reached the room.

And not one second later, it turned out. Buck had barely hung the Do Not Disturb sign before Chris was pushing the door shut, and pushing Buck right up against it. Chris's hands were cold on the skin of his neck, pulling loose his tie, sliding the buttons of his shirt free so quickly he was surprised they didn't go flying. Chris's mouth followed down the middle of Buck's chest, and Buck had to lock his knees to keep himself upright when that playful tongue rimmed his navel and flicked inside. By the time they reached his belt, the hands were warmer but no less desperate, working swiftly to open his trousers, sliding them just far enough out of the way to give Chris the access he wanted. Buck couldn't say when Chris had gone to his knees, but then he couldn't say anything at all once Chris's mouth closed over him. He sank one hand into Chris's hair, but it wasn't like his partner needed any encouragement. Heat, wet and suction drew him forward, but Chris's hands at his hips held him still, so all Buck could do was lean there and take what his lover had to offer.

The barely banked arousal flared back quick and hot, and Buck gasped in deep breaths that matched Chris's steady, focused rhythm. Tension curled inward from his extremities, arching his head back and his chest forward, curling up his toes inside his dress shoes, until every bit of him was focused at the center, where Chris and he met, where that incredible mouth was sucking the very life out of him. He managed to crack his eyes open, to rock his head down, to look at Chris, and see his own cock disappearing into the wide-stretched mouth, and that glimpse was all it took.

Orgasm rushed up and out, the once-steady rhythm breaking into spastic jerking, his seed spurting out, Chris taking it, swallowing, and sucking some more. It took all he had to keep his eyes open, to keep looking as sparks flared across his vision, as the ripple of electricity flared along every nerve. Incongruously, the moment seemed to both last forever, and be over almost before it had begun. Buck was left gasping, and the last of the strength seemed to have drained out of him, because he was sliding along the door, feeling his jacket caught up on something and he didn't even care, winding up sprawled on his ass with his legs bent wide. Chris lost his oral grip somewhere halfway through Buck's descent, and grunted his frustration, dropping back ass-first on the carpet.

"Damn," Buck finally muttered, when he got his breathing back under control. "Maybe we ought to visit your folks more often." He'd meant it as a joke, but it must have struck some chord, because Chris's head jerked up then, pinning him with a stare that seemed equal amounts of anger, hurt, and longing. "What?"

Chris shook his head and scuttled back on hands and feet like a crab, until he could push upright without a chance of coming into contact with Buck. He stalked over to the window without a word, turning his back on the room, and Buck. That couldn't be good news at all. Instead of chasing him across the room, or tackling him onto the king-sized bed, Buck picked himself up and went into the bathroom. He cranked open the taps on in the giant whirlpool tub, and shrugged out of what was left of his clothing. The jacket had actually survived the slide down the door pretty well, but Chris's enthusiastic unwrapping had lost him a few buttons on his shirt after all. He couldn't really tell if the stain on his tie was from dinner or their extra-curricular activities, but either way it needed a trip to the cleaners too. He heeled out of his shoes, dropped his pants and underwear in a puddle on top of them. He checked the temperature in the tub, adjusting the mix of hot and cold a little, and then padded back into the room wearing socks and a smile.

Chris had come back from the window, at least, and was perched on the edge of the bed, looking anxious and apologetic. "Sorry," he got out, but seemed to run out of words after that. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he agreed instead. "You are. But it's not like I'm not used to it by now." He infused enough humor and love into the truth to take the sting out of it, and Chris ducked his head, hiding a small grin. "How 'bout you strip off, so we can finally get some use out of that big, damn tub?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Chris took a little more care with his clothes, draping them over the back of the desk chair, sliding his shoes into the floor of the closet. He reached out, brushing his hand over Buck's shoulder and down his arm, ending up with clasped hands, pulling Buck back to the bathroom. The tub was almost full, would probably overflow once they were both in it, but there was a drain in the floor, and besides, wasn't half the fun of staying in a hotel making a mess someone else had to clean up? Chris went down on one knee to peel one dress sock and then the other down Buck's calf and off, stroking along the arch and ball of each foot as they were exposed, strong enough not to tickle, but still sending a shiver up Buck's leg.

"Come on." Buck hooked a hand under Chris's arm, pulling him upright and brushing a kiss across his cheek, then shoving him gently toward the tub. It was spacious, not like an outdoor hot tub, but bigger than a residential tub, with room for both of them to stretch out and plenty deep to soak up to their necks. The water did flow over the sides, splashing onto the floor as they settled in, not quite spreading far enough to soak Buck's clothes. "Come here," he directed again, pulling Chris to him, back to front, wrapping his arms around Chris's waist. His hand stroked up and down lightly, not trying to start something, just soothing Chris's tension the best way he knew how. It took a few minutes for Chris to let go, to relax back into Buck's hold. He let his head drop back onto Buck's shoulder, snuffled a little bit in the hair behind Buck's ear, and then finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

Buck chuckled. "You said that already."

"Yeah. But I am," Chris protested. Buck could usually go a month without an apology from Chris, now it seemed like he had an even dozen in less than twenty-four hours.

"Instead of apologizing, how 'bout you try a little explaining."

"Are you sure we couldn't just skip to the make-up sex instead?" Buck grinned, but he wasn't planning on being distracted from this, and he expected Chris knew that. He waited, and Chris just sighed.

"It's my dad," he finally admitted. Buck had figured as much.

"Is he sick?" Arthur was getting up there in years, even if he did keep a pretty active lifestyle. He looked healthy, but there were plenty of things that could be wrong that might not show.

"No," Chris was quick to put in. "Nothing like that." Buck relaxed a little, though he guessed it was only a matter of time.

"Then what?" he asked, bending a little to kiss along Chris's jaw, sucking gently at his earlobe. "Something's got you all worked up, and not in a good way."

Chris chuckled. "You didn't seem to mind a few minutes ago." Chris slid a hand down to cup Buck's now-limp cock, stroking it gently, and Buck had to concede his point.

"Yeah, well, a good blowjob's not going to get you off the hook. So spill it."

Chris nodded then, and turned in the water until he was lying on his side, with his head pillowed on Buck's chest. He wrapped both arms around Buck, squeezing a little, then relaxing his grip. "It's gonna sound crazy." Buck had to wonder at that. One thing he'd never seen from Arthur or Donna was any hint that aging was affecting their mental faculties.

"Your dad's talking crazy?" he asked.

Chris snorted. "Crazy for him, but no. Not that kind of crazy."

"What did he say?" If Chris didn't get to the point pretty soon, Buck might just have to drive over to the Larabee spread and ask Arthur what the hell he'd said that had sent his eldest son into such a tailspin.

"Told me how great you are." Buck chuckled, and watched the vibration of it spread to Chris and into the water that cradled them. He might have made a joke, but Chris wasn't done. "He said I'd be an idiot to let you go. And that they want me to be happy." Buck's heart ached just a little at Chris's amazement. Hell, that was the way that parents were _supposed_ to feel about their kids. It was the kind of thing that Buck called his mother just to hear. But he tried to imagine being Chris, hearing this for the first time in his forties. What would that be like? It probably would shake up your world a bit.

"He loves you, Chris." He'd always known it, even when Chris couldn't see it for the years of bullshit the past had left between them. "They both do."

"Yeah," Chris's agreement was quiet. "Guess I should've known that."

"Yeah, well." Buck kissed the top of Chris's head, then teased, "Sometimes you're not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but we still love you."

"You haven't heard the best part, though."

"What's that?" He couldn't quite imagine something to top that.

"They want us to stay up at the farm from now on when we visit. Say goodbye to your whirlpool tub, hello to cold showers, unless you want them to hear everything."

Buck groaned for effect, because Chris expected it, but really, he was touched. It really said something about the senior Larabees that love for their son would finally triumph over the faith that was so central to their lives. And he could bet that Steven wouldn't make this choice easy on them, either. But if there was one thing he could count on from any Larabee, it was bullheaded stubbornness. He didn't think that once it had been offered, the invitation would be revoked.

"That's sweet, Chris. How soon do you want to take them up on it?"

Chris snorted, "Not very damn soon."

They lay in the tub for almost an hour, and Chris took it upon himself to add hot water in dribs and drabs to keep it comfortable. Buck wanted to turn on the jets, but Chris hated the damned noise of them so he griped, and Buck slapped them back off quickly. What touching there was was light, easy, relaxing them both rather than inciting the next bout of sex. Chris smiled when Buck's breathing eased into a light snore. "Hey," he whispered.

"What?"

"You're snoring."

"Am not." Buck could literally fall asleep without knowing, and wake up without realizing he'd been out. Sometimes he even woke himself up with his own snoring. Chris was tempted, some days, to borrow the camcorder from the office, just to prove his point. But today it was enough to climb out of the tub with muscles so relaxed they felt like jello, and offer his partner a hand. Buck sat perched on the edge of the tub, staring at his shriveled fingertips like they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen.

"Here." Chris draped a large towel around his shoulders, and grabbed another for himself. He scrubbed briefly at his hair, and then brushed his teeth and took a piss. When he was ready for bed, Buck was still sitting there, zoned out. "C'mon, big dog, let's get you to bed." Buck didn't protest when Chris pointed him at the john, then bundled him toward the bed.

"Be right there," Chris said, and picked up his phone to check voicemail. Vin had called to check in, and in Vin's words, make sure Chris hadn't killed anybody. He smiled and hit the speed dial for Vin's cell.

"It's over. No bloodshed," he said when Vin answered.

Soft laughter echoed down the line. "Good to hear. You sound good too."

"I'm..." Chris paused, not sure how to say it, and wondered if he could get Buck to explain the decades of bullshit that would make his dad's behavior tonight sound as unexpected as it had been. "I am," he finished lamely.

"Good. You still headed back tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah." They rang off that simply, and Chris turned off his phone before he crawled under the covers next to Buck.

He curled along Buck's back, snugging his knees in close, wrapping one arm around Buck's waist and tucking the other up under his head. Buck sighed and laid a hand over his, pressing until Chris's hand was splayed over his heart, and he could feel each beat from front to back.

"Love you," Chris whispered, pressing a kiss against Buck's spine.

"Mmmm-mmm," was Buck's only response, and then he was snoring again. The sound was familiar, soothing, and Chris let himself drift to sleep.

When he woke, it was with a jerk, certain that he'd overslept, missed something important. The bright sun through the open curtains stabbed his eyes. It had to be— Chris fumbled for his watch, didn't find it on the bedside table, and it took him another minute to recall where they were and why. Finally he propped himself up enough to look across Buck to the hotel alarm clock: 9:30. Damn, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so late. Of course, it wasn't like anyone was expecting them anywhere this morning. Vin would be worried if they didn't pull in before dinner, but other than that... They could lie here in bed until checkout time, or as late as they wanted if he was willing to take the hit on his credit card.

But the truth was, he wanted to get home, hear Vin brag about what he had accomplished around the house without Buck to distract him, to settle back into the comfort of their life together, and get back to work. It wasn't like the guys weren't an independent bunch who kept the office running pretty well while they were gone. They'd gotten the practice in the times that Buck and Chris had been on the road more often than not. Hell, they were probably glad to have the place to themselves. Maybe it was time to get started planning their next vacation. One for all three of them. He and Buck had had a lot of fun searching websites and travel guides before they chose the Alaskan cruise for his folks. Maybe they ought to put that kind of effort into their own leisure plans.

"What?" Buck's voice was scratchy with sleep, but his hand came up, and one finger rubbed lightly between Chris's brows where Buck said he was getting wrinkles from all his worrying.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Chris leaned up for a closed-mouth kiss, but Buck wasn't willing to stop there, and Chris didn't put up much of a fight. When he pulled back, Buck had a sleepy, wide grin that just made Chris think all over again how much he loved this man and the life they'd built. And yeah, fifty years might just be long enough for all of them to spend together. If Buck's knees and his back didn't put them both in wheelchairs long before, they'd have matching rocking chairs, and Vin would—

"Chris?" Buck had sensed Chris's sudden distraction. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit," Buck countered.

"Nothing bad." He kissed Buck again, then pushed up to his hands and knees and climbed out of bed. "What say we get some breakfast, and hit the road?" Truth was, as long as they were in the car before noon, they'd be home in time for dinner. If Vin wasn't in the mood to cook, they could pick up take out on the way in and have a relaxed evening.

Buck groaned, stretching his arms up high overhead and his feet off the end of the big bed. "Okay, but I could think of a few things we could get up to right here that would be a lot more fun than six and a half hours in the car."

Chris chuckled, ripping the pre-packaged coffee and filter open with his teeth. "You already missing the whirlpool tub?"

"Maybe we should install one. Especially if Vin's in a handy mood."

"Just because he can resurface the deck doesn't mean he wants to remodel our bathroom." Chris did a little mental figuring. It would be cheaper—safer, anyway—to pay a licensed plumber.

"I think he's pretty handy." Buck's own hands slid around Chris's hips, just holding him while they watched the coffee pot sputter and drip.

"You're one to talk." Chris turned in Buck's arms and felt those big hands slide down to cup his ass.

"You don't usually complain about that," Buck teased.

"I'm not complaining now," Chris countered. "But if you take that much further, we might not make it out of here before dark."

The rumble of Buck's laugh vibrated between them. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Chris shook his head. "Just, if we want a vacation, I can think of a few better places than Jasper to spend it. " Aruba, maybe. It was no stretch to imagine Buck, muscles flexed and sheened with sweat, straddling Vin to apply a liberal dose of cocoa butter…

"Mm-hmm." Buck started to explore Chris's throat, but right then the coffee maker let out a big huff of steam and fell silent. "Ooh, coffee!" Maybe he should have been offended at how quickly Buck was diverted, but he only managed amused. Buck fixed a cup for him, and he wandered over to the window, looking out at the bright morning. He imagined where people in those cars might be going, which of them had jobs, families, outstanding warrants. You couldn't tell just by looking at folks who they were, and sometimes even the ones you thought you knew would up and surprise you.

Chris figured he'd surprised the hell out of his family the first time he'd brought Buck home and demanded they accept him as Chris's lover. He'd surprise them again when he introduced them to Vin. Of course, if Vin had any say about it, that day would never come. And, oddly enough, that didn't really bother Chris. He wouldn't be doing Vin any favors to drag him into the soap opera that was the Larabee family. And it might be a kindness, not to force his family to stretch any further. They all, with the exception of Steve, had learned to love Buck. They'd like Vin, too, if they ever got the chance to meet him. Chris smiled.

What?" Buck asked.

Chris shrugged. "I think my mom would like Vin. And my dad would hate him."

"Probably," Buck said easily.

"So I'm thinking—" Buck threw a pillow at him, hard. Chris ducked and let it go flying by. "What the hell was that for?" he asked.

"Nobody wants another war, Chris," Buck huffed at him. "Not your folks, not Vin, not me and not even you. So you tell me, who do you think you'd be making happy if you did that?"

Chris opened his mouth—and closed it again. Sometimes Buck could be insufferable when he was right, but today he was just earnest, loving all of them a damn sight better than they probably deserved.

"Let's go home."

THE END


End file.
